


But come ye back, when summer’s in the meadow

by LeafontheWinf2



Series: The Changeling Verse [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Celtic Mythology, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, BAMF Sarah Rogers, BAMF Women, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Irish Steve Rogers, M/M, Magical Realism, Pre-Avengers (2012), Steve is Dead But will get Better, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafontheWinf2/pseuds/LeafontheWinf2
Summary: Sitting in the cockpit of the Valkyrie, Steve knew he could radio in his coordinates. New that he could jump from the plane and swim to safety, knew he could survive. Except...he really didn’t want to.But the universe never really cared what Steve wanted so this isn’t the end of it.Or the interlude where Steve recharges before returning to the role of Captain America and is taught to be terrifying by Clan Catha.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that I disappeared for a while. I was out traveling for the last week and just got back in town with internet access. I was able to get my docs offline so I was able to keep working and I have the first half of Avengers 1 done so I can keep writing and working. 
> 
> And since I missed the last week of post I figured I could put two chapters up this week, and my plan is finishing this next week and then starting the Avengers movies next week as well.

Sitting in the cockpit of the Valkyrie, Steve knew he could radio in his coordinates. New that he could jump from the plane and swim to safety, knew he could survive. But right now he just...could not. Magic had been flowing through him since Buck...since the train. It had been pressing against the inside of his eyes, painful and insistent like the worst kind of migraine that was driving Steve mad. The Commandos had thought it was grief, but Steve was relieved to just give in to the magic as it led him to death.

He had been told once that Bucky was half of him, part of his very soul. Without Bucky, Steve knew there was a gaping hole in his chest that was slowly killing him. His magic was just kind enough to finish the job quickly. 

So as the ice rose up to greet him, Steve shut his eyes and tried to relax. It was so hard not to tense his muscles as metal crumpled from the impact as his bones shattered with the unnatural twist to his body from the hit, water filling the space leaving Steve tensing but he still could not bring himself to try to escape even as he drowned in the icy blackness…

And then...it was all gone. The pain, the cold, it all disappeared. The darkness was still there but Steve was no longer in agony. He was just sort of floating there, feeling warmth wrap around him, cradling against the darkness and the cold. The warmth was so familiar. It was childhood and love and relaxation as Steve just curled even closer to it with a soft whine. 

“Oh sweet boy,” the warmth cooed, “Mo Mhuirnin. Look at you.”

Steve knew that voice. He could recognize that voice no matter what, no matter how old he grew he would always know it. Steve opened his eyes and smiled. “Mamí.”

Sarah Rogers, in her thirties but healthy, beamed back down at him as she ran a loving hand through his hair. “Hello a stór. Oh, you’ve gotten so big.”

“You’re dead,” Steve whispered turning to curl into her like when he was a small child, “Mamí you died but you’re here, does that mean I’m dead too?”

“Yes love, you died,” Sarah leaned down to kiss his forehead, “And as soon as you get more strength back I’m going to kick your fucking ass for dying so young Steven, I swear.” 

And that shouldn’t have been so wonderful to hear but Steve couldn’t help but beam and snuggle back into her. He’d missed his mother so much, not even her threats of bodily harm could upset him. So Steve relaxed into her as he lazily took in the surrounding place. It was bright green, sweet smelling grass surrounding them as they rested. Great standing stones circled them as oak trees framed the picturesque clearing where Steve lay. 

“This is heaven?” He asked softly as the breeze stirred his hair. 

Sarah hummed, “You don’t like it?”

“No, I love it. It’s just...so Irish. I thought heaven would have less standing stones honestly, seems pretty pagan Mamí.”

“That’s because it is pagan sweet boy,” Sarah laughed ruffling his hair, “This is sort of the waiting place before you go to the afterlife. You’re not fully dead yet.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because your family loves you, so Aunt Morrigan didn't leave you to suffer as you died. Because you would have suffered Steven,” Sarah snarled suddenly, grabbing his ear and twisting in just the right way to have Steve crying out and curling up in more shame than pain but it still hurt, “What were you thinking crashing a plane into the Arctic! You were born with a brain, why were it you using it!”

A familiar laugh, sadder than usual, kept Steve from whining back at his mother as Badb appeared in the clearing across from them. Her face was welcoming, but eyes sad as she knelt before Steve to brush a kind hand against his arm. “He couldn’t think Sarah love, his magic wouldn’t let him.” Her smile was so sad. “I’m so sorry my sweet boy.”

“Was it because of Bucky,” Steve hated how small he sounded but he just didn’t...no, couldn’t think about Bucky’s death. 

Badb sighed soft and sad, “Yes and no. Yes you were pushed for it because your soul was missing his. But no because this is more than that, slightly more to it as well. You know how one of our blood made the magic go away after the Famine?”

Of course Steve knew. It was the most common story his mother told him growing up.

“Well, someone of our blood needs to break the curse. And the sacrifice needs to be big enough to bring the magic back,” Badb sighed as Sarah dragged Steve even more into her lap, “And a sacrifice to end a world war….”

“Big enough to bring back the magic,” Sarah whispered softly. And Steve wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Didn’t know what to think about his magic making him suicidal apparently so instead he just put that to the side and snuggled into his mother’s arms. 

Badb huffed, amusement coming back a little bit, “I’ll leave you with your mother for now my dear. Plus, there’s someone who would like some alone time with you.” And with that she vanished. 

Steve frowned, turning his head up stare at his mother. Sarah just beamed back at him, tears in her eyes. “There’s someone here who wants to meet you baby.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “He’s been so excited so see you.”

Steve just stared back at her because he couldn’t possibly think of someone who would want to meet him for the first time here. Sure, there were his ancestors and his biological (aka not magical) grandmother but surely they could wait for a little while as he got to spend time with his mom. 

He could hear footsteps coming closer, could see the shadow stretching out as someone knelt by their side. Sarah looked up at grinned brightly at whoever was sitting there and Steve had only seen her beam like that at him before. Which meant...no. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t keep the gasp in as he stared up at the familiar lips and ears as a man beamed down at him with bright shining eyes. 

“Steven,” he whispered reaching out with a shaking hand, “Oh Steven!”

“Dad,” Steve whispered letting Joseph Rogers pull him into a hug, “Dad, god, Dad you’re here!”

“My little boy, you’re so grown up,” Joseph’s laugh was wet as he pressed loud smacking kisses all over Steve’s face, “Leading America to victory, falling in love, I can’t even...my boy!”

Steve whispered curling into a broad, strong chest (just like the pictures Mamí kept in their home), “You saw me and Bucky?” Was his father going to be alright with his only son being involved with a man?

Joseph just sighed, pulling him in closer. “I can’t say I approve of that boy. He spent far too much time with a hand up your skirt.”

Steve choked because he could not believe his father had seen him in his dresses. Oh god, his mother had seen. 

Sarah, for her part, just slapped Joseph on the arm with a huff. “Joseph. We talked about this. Bucky is a perfectly nice boy.”

“Who spends a lot of time ogling my baby boy. It’s indecent,” a melodramatic sigh left Joseph, “Steve, why couldn't you find yourself a nice boy who didn’t spend half his time trying to get you on your back. Like that Jason boy, he was a gentleman.”

“Oh my god, how is this happening,” Steve groaned in agony, “You can’t meet Saoirse. It’s not allowed. Mamí make it stop.”

“No,” Sarah sounded so stupidly happy, “I won’t.” So Steve just huffed out a breath before settling back down, held safe by his parents.


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn’t anything really wrong with being dead. No, seriously, Steve couldn’t complain. It was pretty alright except that he had been dead and all that. Steve spent most of his time with his parents although his grandparents had come to say hello. Well, his maternal grandparents had gushed over him while his paternal grandfather grumbled about the damn sissy boy who had ruined his family name. Sarah had chased him off pretty quickly much to Steve’s pride and his father’s delight.

(“My Da was always an ass,” Joseph had told Steve proudly when Sarah had chased the man away, “I tried not to live up to his example.” He gazed delightedly at his wife attempting to throttle his father. “I love your mother so much when she gets like this.”

“Huh,” Steve muttered thinking back on how very attracted he had been to terrifying competency. Looked like that ran in the family too.)

Various other ancestors wandered into the little glen as well, spending time fussing over their newest addition. Great aunties and great great grandmothers cooed over how charming he was, pinching his cheeks and delighting them with his war stories. Steve met everyone. From great great great grandmother Ciara who had been hung by the British for inciting rebellion, to his aunt Imogen (“Seven times removed dearie,” she’d announced) who had fought Cromwell. There was Aoife who had been Badb’s actual child and fought the Norsemen, and there Riona who had died in the Famine. 

Family, Steve’s family of terrifying women who had fought to the death for what they believed in. People who had the same nose as him, the same laugh, the same grin. For someone who had never had more than just one person growing up who was like it, it was overwhelmingly wonderful to be surrounded by the whole clan. 

And it would have been better if Steve was, you know, actually dead. Because he wasn’t. Not yet. He’d been in the glade for quite a while now. To the point where the rest of the clan was starting to get concerned enough to demand from Badb what was happening. Because Steve couldn’t go after Badb in the spirit realm, seeing how he was still somehow not dead yet.

So he just say and waited until his mother got tired enough to go and grab Badb and drag her back into the clearing before settling back at Steve’s side, Joseph bracketing him as well. Steve had already resigned himself to his parents never letting him breathe, so he just relaxed as Badb came wandering back into the ring with them.

“So,” Badb huffed out, settling down before the small family. “You’re still here which is a problem.” Steve just snorted, not even sure how to address that issue. His great grandmother had the decency to wince a bit, “Not that I want you to be dead, dear. But the problem is that you’re supposed to be dead. Seeing how you smashed a plane into solid ice.”

Steve shifted a bit, side eyeing Sarah because she still had not let that part go. “So you’re saying I screwed up dying?”

Badb winced, “No sweetheart, that’s not the point.”

“Yes it is!” A new voice joined the fray, one frazzled as two more figures joined them in the clearing. Steve reared back in surprise as Morrigan and Macha appeared before them, the witch looking rather annoyed while death looked like she was losing her mind as she glared at Steve with too wide eyes. 

“You,” Morrigan hissed, hands grasping at Steve like she wanted to wring his neck, “Are incapable of dying!”

Steve just stared back. After war and horror and losing Bucky, she was far less terrifying than when he had been a child and she took his mother. “I’ve been told at volume from my mother that I’m supposed to not die.”

Sarah elbowed him, “Unless it’s old age.”

“Unless it’s old age.” He repeated faithfully. 

“You crashed a plane into the Arctic!” Morrigan screamed, whirling to glare at her sisters, “He crashed a plane into the Arctic! He was supposed to die either from the cold or the whole drowning thing but somehow managed to freeze himself solid so he does not die! He’s just there! How is this happening!”

“Magic,” Macha said dryly just as Badb quipped, “Sheer genetic stubbornness.” 

Steve just stared at his aunts. Morrigan looked positively frazzled as she just stared at Steve with exhausted red eyes, her eyebrow twitching even as Sarah and Joseph held Steve close. “So…I’m still alive?”

“Yes,” Morrigan hissed, “Which should be impossible!”

“Sister,” Badb warned. 

“Don’t you sister me! He smashed a place into the Arctic! No one can survive that but he someone managed to!” Morrigan let out a scream of rage and ran her hands through her hair, “What did you allow that doctor to put in you!”

Steve, instead of answering, just glared. “I thought my magic wanted me to die because I lost Bucky.”

“It did! But you’re still alive! You were the sacrifice that was supposed to bring magic but you! Did! Not! Die!” A pained whimper left her as she gestured helplessly at him, “Just...what did you do?”

Macha, who had been watching this silently, decided to join the fray, “Maybe he wasn’t supposed to die.”

Sarah perked up at that, “What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe he was supposed to live and do...something in the future where the magic needs him enough to do something,” Macha shrugged, “So we just had a little bit of magic get released back into the world from your dramatic sacrifice.”

Steve blinked at that. “How much is a little?”

“Robot men wearing red and gold armor and some guy turned into a giant green rage monster,” Badb dryly explained while Morrigan kind of just...wailed in despair. “Which means we’re changing how we approach this. We’ve been worrying over how to make your passing easier but now…”

“Now I need to come back to life,” Steve whispered because he got it. He wasn’t done yet, he had to go back and continue on because the magic wanted him to. “How am I supposed to come back to life after decades being dead?”

Macha sighed, “Give me two weeks and I’ll have something” before she disappeared with Morrigan leaving Badb behind. 

Badb huffed, leaning back on her forearms to stare up at the sky. “We’ll figure this out Steven, don’t you worry about that.”

Steve relaxed further into his parents embrace, watching the woman who had helped raise him look her age all of a sudden. “This is why you haven’t been by to visit. Because you’re trying to fix whatever happened.”

Badb nodded, exhausted. “Morrigan has been...loud the last couple of decades. And I wanted to have something concrete before talking with you.”

Sarah’s arms dragged Steve in closer to her side, “So what happens now?”

“Now we fix this and bring Steve back to the land of the living.”

After that, everything changed. Sure Steve still spent time with his parents, but rest of the family started to swing by. Not to visit. No, to train Steve on how to survive when he left the spirit realm and entered the land of the living. Sarah taught her son how to bandage wounds and care for the soul, Badb taught him how to fight with sword and dagger on top of his shield. Riona taught him how to pick locks which she’d apparently done all the time. His biological grandmother Fiona spent a solid two days explaining to Steve how he really should get back in the habit of wearing dresses dear, there’s so much you can hide up them and Steve just wanted to die of embarrassment because grandma just no!

But Steve could feel himself learning. Could recognize the wisdom of his family being passed down to one person who would use it, the only one from Clan Catha who had not died young (yet) and would go back to change the world some more. They were so proud of him already, Steve had no idea how he could possibly live up to their expectations. But he would try his best, so he threw himself into training full throttle.

So when Macha appeared before him, green eyes sparking with mischief as Badb kicked his ass again, Steve was apprehensive but ready to face the world again. (He could do it. He could live, even if half of him still screamed that he join Bucky and just give up the fight)

“You’ve prepared the spell,” Badb demanded, leaving Steve gasping on the grass as she face her sister. 

“I did. It’s all going to work out great!” Her smile was freakishly like Saoirse’s. Steve was already feeling dread creep up his spine. Macha, clearly not caring, just reached out to drag Steve back to his feet, “I’m sending you home nephew mine!”

Steve stared at her. “To Brooklyn?”

“No no, your real home. The only place this could honestly work,” Macha threw back her head and cackled, “Now, since sixty years have passed I was able to use that magica, energy to get you and the shield out of ice. But it’s been three years once then, so the magic has faded a bit so you won’t be all this…” She gestured at his body. “When you go back.”

“I’m losing the serum!?”

“No no. You’re getting a third form like any proper Irish hero love,” Macha pressed a smacking, obnoxious kiss to his cheek. Steve stumbled as he felt the sheer power rolling through his body, sending him crashing down to his knees. The sky blurred above him. The world lurched to the side as Steve just collapsed onto the grass. “Give them hell dear.” 

And then the world went black. The last thing he heard was the cackling laughter of crows.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,I know I promised two chapters this round but I decided to be extra nice today. Instead, I’m going to be giving three chapters because I thought this was only three long but then had to go back and add another. And since I promised the start of Avengers, I figured providing an extra chapter would get us there. So please enjoy!

Quinn was six months away from retirement. He had everything lined up, the sale of his Dublin townhouse, the new property bought out by Galway where his wife was slowly moving everything into, and the starting of a proper garden. It was supposed to be an easy few months in the office, just filing paperwork on cases dealing with citizenship and moving on. No more dealing with the public. No more tears. No more screaming. Just retired bliss. 

So when Conor had run in babbling about a case that no one had any idea how to handle, Quinn had thought it would be a quick fix. Really, young people today couldn’t handle anything if it wasn’t on their smartphones. So he had followed along, with more than fifty years experience ready to be used. 

He had not expected this. No one could have expected this. 

Sitting before him in sea damp clothes was Captain America. Not an imposter, the actual Captain America with the shield and everything. They had done a test on the metal apparently and it turned out to be vibranium, and when they’d pulled in historians to double check his details and everything worked out fine. 

“And he just appeared in a faerie ring,” Quinn demanded eyes a bit wild as he stared at Rogers who was sinking into his seat with an embarrassed smile. 

Rogers grimaced a bit and he should not look that small. Seriously. All the pictures of him from WWII had him as a broad shouldered and tall. 

This man was still tall, but not towering. Plus his shoulders were slimmer, making him appear more delicate than a super soldier had any right to be. It was all rather disconcerting. 

Quinn stifled the urge to laugh hysterically at the whole mess as he stared Rogers down. “And how did you end up in Ireland then Mr. Rogers?”

“The faeries saved me in the Arctic then dropped me off back here. I think they overshot how long I was supposed to be gone,” Rogers was apparently a master of bullshit because he looked painfully serious the entire time they were talking. There were no cracks from him as he just stared back at Quinn. 

“You seriously expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.” Rogers leaned forward. “I do.” On his wrist was a Celtic knot. A very specific knot. 

Now, Quinn was not a stupid man. He had grown up with the Troubles, grown up as a country tried to unite and find its own identity. He had grandparents raging about world wars and famines. He’d grown up on tales of the fae and their tricks, the gods and goddesses who walked the land and brought change in their wake. 

Quinn was told of the Catha when he was a child. And even though there had been no Catha in Ireland since the Great War, he knew the mark. He would recognize it anywhere. 

Steve Rogers, Captain America, was Catha. That really shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it was. 

Quinn shuffled the papers, staring resolutely into Rogers’ glowing eyes. “You must understand we’ll have to investigate the faerie abduction claim before contacting the US to get your citizenship reactivated. Do you have any other citizenships?”

“I should have Irish actually,” Rogers admitted brightly, relaxing a bit into the chair, “My Ma was from her and said she sent back the proper paperwork when Ireland gained its independence.”

Because he had been alive when that happened. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Quinn didn't know how to handle this. “Right. Do you have any next of kin that can vouch for you? Did the faeries inform you of anyone to look for.”

Rogers beamed. “They did actually.” And he proudly told them the name before settling back into his seat. 

Quinn sent the name to the US embassy in the hopes that they would be being to contact the woman Rogers told them about. He expected it to take a couple of weeks, possibly a few months, so he’d settled in to wait it out. There wasn’t any protocol of how long to book a hotel room for someone like Rogers, or even where he was supposed to stay until the mess got sorted out. 

Quinn was just starting to wonder about the wording needed to set up the email to the courts when his office door was opened again as another youngster scampered inside. “Sir,” the kid gasped out, “There’s someone here to see Mr. Rogers.”

“What.” 

Quinn stared back at the kid, who had been taking selfies with Rogers just twenty minutes ago when they’d settled the Captain in a break room. The boy was now wide eyed and visibly terrified as he just stood there trembling. “This...this woman showed up demanding to see Rogers. She said she’s his family and here to take him home until this whole mess is figured out.”

Quinn blinked a bit. “And you believed her?”

“She’s got a weird feeling! Like I had to believe her even if it sounds super weird,” the kid shrieked, “Plus I’m pretty sure she’d kill me if I don’t take her to Rogers soon so I decided to come and get you sir…”

Quinn just sighed, a deep painful sounding breath of air that was clearly the sound of a man trying not to break down crying instead. “Send her in then. And have someone fetch Rogers from the break room while you’re at it.” The kid nodded, scampering out of the room as quickly as he could leaving Quinn to his thoughts. 

All he really wanted to do right now was drink. That would make this whole mess more bearable, if he could reach into a bottle and just numb the insanity happening around him for a little while. Quinn’s old boss has a bottle of whiskey hidden in his desk. Every now and then he had pulled it out and taken a swing when the days were long and hard. But that had been a different time, more wild and lawless, and Quinn thought they had moved past all of that. 

Looks like he was wrong. The chaos had still been there, it was just hidden until the most inopportune moment. Really, all Quinn needed was something else outlandish for everything to get worse. 

The rap of knuckles on glass drew his attention away from the mournful wish of whiskey. “Come in.” And even if he didn’t want this new person to do so, he still had a job to do.

But when the woman stepped through the door, Quinn regretted allowing them in. She wasn’t a tall woman, especially seeing how she appeared to be a bit stooped with old age. Slate grey hair was pulled back in a no nonsense bun, and the stern mouth was set with heavy wrinkles. All in all, a rather unassuming old woman in a drab dress. 

Except for the flashing green eyes and the feel of her in the air. The crackle of magic ticking the reptilian part of Quinn’s brain sending him up and out of his chair because you were never rude to these women. Always be polite, always show your manners. You wouldn't want to anger a witch after all. And she was very clearly a witch. 

“Ma’am,” Quinn croaked gesturing weakly at the chair in front of him, “Thank you for coming.”

A dainty sniff was her response as she settled into the chair. “I was told you found Captain Rogers.”

Quinn frowned, “Who told you that?”

“Dear boy, you really don’t want the answer to that.”

That was...disturbing. And rather concerning to the point where Quinn truly didn’t want to anger a witch and get himself cursed right before he retires. Still, he had a duty to figure out what was going on with the Captain. And as terrifying the witch was, he couldn't allow her to hurt someone in his office. “What are your intentions towards Captain Rogers?”

The woman blinked slowly, before her lip curled up a little. “I knew him as a boy you see. When I found out he was alive I just wanted to see him again.”

“You knew him in America?”

“I just said that.” A bit of heat crept into her voice, warning him to back off.

But Quinn was not that spineless. Sure, she terrified him on a visceral level but she was still just a woman and he had all of the Irish government behind him. He would not bow to the wishes of a witch. (Or at least he wouldn’t bow until she started throwing curses around.) And it seemed like the witch wasn’t too pleased with him either, judging by the way the air seemed heavier as she glared at him.

Quinn was starting to sweat, but before he could panic the door was shoved open again as Captain Rogers ducked his head inside with a sheepish smile. “You asked for me?”

Quinn stood to welcome him inside, but the witch stood smoothly turning to face Rogers. “Steven.”

Rogers blinked, eyes widening in shock as he stared at the witch. His mouth hung open in shock.

The witch huffed, “Come now cousin. Close your mouth, you look like an idiot.”

“Saoirse,” Steve whispered softly, “You’re still alive.” The witch’s, Saoirse, eyes narrowed dangerously at that, sending Rogers into frantically babbling apologies and no one was actually leaving Quinn’s office. What even was his life. 

Four hours later, Steve was finally free of the office and slumped across a bed in a local hotel Saoirse had rented for them. She was perched on the chair across the room, watching him with heavy lidded eyes as Steve tried to just turn his mind off. 

They had been sitting there in the quiet for an hour by then. Just suffering in the awkward tension as Steve stared at the ceiling and Saoirse watched him. 

And of course, she was the first one to break the silence. “I thought you were dead Steve. Everyone thought you were dead.”

He winced at that. Pushing up on the mattress, he made eye contact with her. “I thought I had died too. Turns out it didn’t take.”

Saoirse hummed at that, “Grandmother sent you back. She warned me you were coming so I was able to get here and meet you.” Her stare turned hard. “I had to leave the bar to come here and deal with this Steven.”

“The bar’s still around?” 

Because that was clearly the thing Steve should be focusing on right then. And judging from Saoirse's annoyed look, she wasn't pleased about what he was focusing on. So he quickly moved on so she wouldn’t kill him (again). “How long was I dead?”

Saoirse sighed, reaching out. Steve moved to meet her halfway, clasping her hand in his. “It’s nearly been seventy years love. So much has changed. Things have gotten so much better in so many ways, but so many other things are the same.” A wry smile crossed her face. “You’re still going to have to fight everyone.”

“And get caught up in what’s happening around me.”

“Don’t worry about that darling. While you were sulking at the ceiling, I booked up a cabin out near Galway so we can you adjusted back to the world.” Saoirse squeezed his hand. “From what that man said in the office, it will probably take The US about two months to get your paperwork processed again.”

“Double citizenship registered,” Steve murmured, a shy smile crossing his mouth, “Ma would be so proud of me.”

“I’m pretty sure she would thump you for bringing all this stress onto your poor cousin,” Saoirse huffed with a grin, “Don’t you worry darling. We’ll get you situated and ready for when the spooks come back demanding that you be Captain America again.”

Steve stared at their clasped hands. “I...I don’t think I want to be Captain America anymore.” Not when it meant boxing away that part of him that missed his skirts, dresses, and pretty things. 

“Then you don’t have to be. I brought the paperwork for the bar. If you want, it’s yours,” she clearly did not mention that she was old, unlikely to last much longer. Still, that was a conversation for another day. Today, Saoirse just leaned in to kiss Steve’s cheek. “You don’t have to hide anymore cousin.”

“Thank you.” Steve smiled back at her, delighted to be with his cousin once more. Everything would work out with the two of them working together on this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why I had them be so accepting of the Changeling thing in Ireland, is because when I talked to Irish people in Galway they told me there’s a Changeling clause because you can’t disprove it in a court of law. Now, they may have been me, but I love that as a concept so it’s real in this verse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got back from my students play, and it was amazing. They’re so special and talented and I’m so proud of them all my gosh I have to gush because they’re going to be amazing!
> 
> Anyway, here’s the last chapter of the interlude (which was originally supposed to be one chapter, what is my life). This was the best way I could figure out how to get Steve back to America from Ireland.

By the time Phil started looking for the thawed Captain Rogers, six months had passed. He’d gotten the alert four months ago on his computer when the US government flagged Rogers file when the Irish government sent it to him. Fury had sent Phil to Ireland to figure out what was happening because while the world was getting more wild with Iron Man and Hulks, faerie circles and magic were pushing it.

Except when Phil had questioned it, everyone told him with absolute certainty that Captain Rogers had been saved by faeries. Then they had informed Phil that a witch had grabbed Rogers and ran off with him. So Phil spent the rest of the time driving around Ireland looking at every fairy tree and circle there was, asking after witches and changelings to figure something out. 

He had found nothing. Of course, Phil had drank more tea and eaten more food than he had ever eaten before. Somehow this turned more into a vacation than searching for Captain America.

Or it had until suddenly one day someone wandered up to Phil when he was eating lunch in Galway and informed him that Steve Rogers was renting a cabin about twenty minutes out of town. And if Phil never told anyone that her hair was green with actual bones growing from her scalp, well. Phil didn’t tell Fury everything. 

Instead he got in the car and drove out to the quaint little cabin, expecting he’d have to go inside to drag Captain Rogers back out to the world.

Except Rogers was already waiting for him. The Captain was standing in front of a tree, growing proudly in front of the cabin, with luggage packed by his feet. Tears were pouring down his face as he watched the tree, uncaring of Phil as he got out of the car to study his childhood hero. 

Captain America was smaller than Phil expected. He was no longer pure muscle like the old black and white pictures. There was a leanness to him now, a slightness in a new willowy build. Power was still present, but it was more hidden. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Rogers looked like any other young adult on the street. 

If Phil hadn’t been told where to look, he never would have guessed this was Captain America. 

Rogers sniffed. He wiped away the tears, turning to face Phil was a slight smile and red eyes. “So looks like you found me after all.”

“Captain.” And...there were just no words. What should you say in this type of scenario. “I’m Phil Coulson.” Seriously? That’s what he managed to say?

Rogers chuckled, a grin brightening his face to boyish charm. “Nice to meet you. I guess you’re taking me home?”

“Yes, yes I am.” Phil popped the trunk as Rogers grabbed his bag and dragged it over to the car, “Shield, my work, has been trying to figure out where to place you…”

“My cousin left her bar to me,” Roger announced, sliding into his seat and shutting the door as Phil scrambled to follow. “I’m planning on keeping it going until I’ve got my feet under me.”

“That’s...a good idea.” Phil fumbled the keys, his hands were shaking so badly. “The bar is in Ireland?”

“Brooklyn actually, she just never believed I died.” 

Right. Brooklyn. Phil could make that work. He’d make anything work for Captain America. Barton had that apartment complex, Rogers could stay there so Shield could monitor him for a while and everyone would be happy. It was the perfect plan.

Rogers turned his attention out the window to stare mournfully at the cottage. Except, he wasn’t watching the cottage. Rogers was staring at the tree standing in the yard, watching it like it was a lost friend. 

What was so special about a tree? 

“It’s a hazel tree,” Rogers explained, voice soft. Phil blinked, trying to figure out where that came from before realizing with a mortified flush that he had said his last thought out loud, “Hazel trees belong to witches. They give them power.”

Witches. Right. “Like the witch who took you?”

Rogers smiled widened, but it was still painfully sad. “Exactly. Saoirse loved trees, said she’d always wanted to be one when she died so she could return back to the earth where she’d come from. Rather that than be buried in a grave for her.”

“That’s….nice.”

“It made her happy,” Steve huffed. “And it’s a beautiful tree. Just like her.”

And after that, silence fell in the car. Phil wasn’t sure what to say, and Rogers was clearly mourning someone. They would stay silent until the tree was far behind them as they headed back to Dublin. But no matter how time passed, Phil never really forgot that hazel tree standing proud in the yard of the cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hazel trees are associated with witchcraft in Celtic mythology. I wanted Saoirse to become a tree because I figured that was a better representation of death than a burial. Because this way, she is gone but her spirit and body remain back in Ireland looking out for it as a tree. (Cough cough, this will be coming back in the next part of this series).


End file.
